


Houses to Houses

by fuckedupisperfect



Series: hey come back lost things [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dead Like Me, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:58:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckedupisperfect/pseuds/fuckedupisperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt's trying to get used to his "life after death" right now, but it's a little difficult. Just a smidgen. (Dead Like Me AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cover your eyes with the paper clothes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel/companion fic to my other fic I wrote four years ago called Sleepwalking. You don't need to read that to make sense of this one, but it helps. (also McKinley got hit by a toilet from outer space which completely threw off the universe of Lima, Ohio. This is a complete AU friendship wise.)
> 
> I wrote this for the prompt "masquerade ball" for Kurtoberfest on tumblr. I'm going to add more to this series, to do with the prompts or not, I haven't decided. I had written stuff for this series before but I never posted them. So I guess I could edit them/write more now that I have a bit of inspiration back.

_There are two bright lights that rush toward him. He jerks the wheel to the right to dodge the incoming car, but he’s hit, he’s hit, and the car goes spinning until it hits a ditch. The hood hits the other side and he can feel the momentum and for a moment he feels the sensation of floating in the air and then the sensation of falling as the seatbelt tightens around him and the airbag explodes. His vision is starting to go black as the ground rushes to him closer and closer._

_“Kurt? You around here?”_

_“I need to call my dad.”_

_“You can’t. You’re dead.”_

Burt called his phone 27 times. Even when he didn’t get Kurt’s voicemail, he still kept on calling. Even when the police showed up at the house with Finn in tow to tell him that his other son was dead, he still kept calling. He needed to speak to him.

 

 

_Glass crunched. The windshield wipers were torn apart, spurting to the sides like the crash was a surprise party and they were the confetti. He actually imagined the cacophonic noises around him were like the noises of a birthday party, his mom holding him up so he could see over the birthday cake and blow out the candles as everyone blew into their party horns and his father looked at him with pride, as if turning 7 was a huge accomplishment._

_But it was not a party. He walked right through the debris of the car, felt that was odd, then went back inside to find his phone. He could have sworn he heard it ringing, but he couldn’t find it._

_“We have to go. Come on.”_

_The girl was still talking to him. But he didn’t want to talk to her. He wanted to talk to his dad. And maybe Finn to give him a piece of his mind for being late and making him miss the rest of the dance, but mostly he wanted to talk to his dad._

_She held out her hand to him. She was wearing red nail polish that was chipped at the edges. He had imagined them to look more scary, but in fashionable trench coats with sensible, tattered rips on the edges._

"There’s nothing left for you here.”

Kurt had moved to New York in late May. He stayed in Lima for a few months to get used to the fact he was dead, but he couldn’t stay much longer to watch his family move on without him. It was actually worse because it seemed like they weren’t moving on, and Kurt couldn’t stand being there not being able to touch them, talk to them, tell them he loved them and to stop looking at him without recognizing him because he was _right there_.

 

Mercedes was nice to him. That was nice. She told him all about how different reaping was in Los Angeles than it was in Lima, how her boss was more strict than Santana, how she had to work at the magic shop next to a record store when music was her true passion because her new identity had nothing to her name.

 

“Of course,” she had laughed, some bitterness hidden in there. “We don’t have passions anymore.” She had pinched Kurt’s cheek, making him swat at her hand in amusement. “Unfortunately, you’re going to stay this young and never get anything.”

 

 

Santana reminded him of a girl he knew in school. Well, when he went to school. He knew she was dead now. When he was still in his obsessive phase about his death, he had looked at the obituary in the newspaper. It turned out she had died a bit before he had. Santana told him when you’re a reaper you usually reap more than one person at a time and people called them tragedies. 

Kurt’s death being called a tragedy appealed to his dramatic side, but he imagined Rachel leaping into his grave to sob over his coffin like she had told him she wanted Finn to do at her funeral and he grimaced. He remembered when Mercedes went with him to go to his funeral. Quinn was too sad at the time to go, even though the reason she had told him was that she had other things she needed to do and she was not the one to go to if he needed help. He knew the girl who had reaped him had been her friend. He knew he had taken her place. He had known the second Quinn came running, screaming her head off as the girl walked into a blur of lights, then finally falling to her knees and glaring at him with such intensity it made his heart hurt that things were not going to go very well for him. 

“Where did she go?” he had asked. He didn’t care his kilt had gotten dirty when he sat next to her at the moment. His real body with his real kilt was probably mangled beyond repair anyway. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Quinn had said, turning away from him. She did not cry. “She’s just gone.” 

Quinn seemed to tolerate him most days, but most of the time she ignored him. Santana said it wasn’t because she was mad at him, and that he should be glad she wasn’t being actively mean to him. Santana had also hysterically thrown things at him and another boy his first day at their headquarters, as he liked to call it, so he figured being ignored was the better option. (That other boy left. He figured Santana meant to throw things more at the boy than himself.)

 

 

These were not the reasons he decided to leave. They were good people. Mercedes was a good friend. 

They were all dead.

He saw no reason why he shouldn’t go to New York. He was still a reaper, he could just take people’s souls there instead of in Lima.

 

 

After he basically recited an entire essay on why he should be able to be moved to the New York reaper establishment, Santana mulled it over with much more thought than she usually put into things.

 “I got to admit,” she said. She flipped through Kurt’s paperwork as they sat together at a booth in Breadstix. Quinn was at home. Mercedes was at work. Kurt was digging his nails into his thigh, waiting for Santana to say no. 

Santana flicked her eyes back and forth between the papers and Kurt’s face, her stoic expression causing Kurt’s nerves to go on the fritz. She finally broke into a sad smile. “I will miss you when you leave.” 

Kurt couldn’t stop the breath of relief from leaving and the tears that suddenly pricked his eyes and made it hard to watch Santana’s face. “Thank you,” he choked out. 

“Ugh, don’t get all misty with me,” Santana said, waving her hand in the air. “I have to tell you something though.” She settled all the paper in front of her in a neat pile. 

“The reaper establishment in New York is not like ours. And I know you’ve talked to Mercedes about her former one and it’s not like that one either.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table and her hair draping over them. “It’s solo there.” 

“What do you mean by solo?” Kurt asked, brows furrowing. “You mean… everyone does their own thing?” 

“Precisely. You won’t have someone to take notes from and no one will be keeping tabs on you. You’re on your own. You’re in charge of your paperwork, getting times of death done, data entry, reaping, everything. I will help you get housing but that’s it. Once you go solo it’s hard to come back.” 

“Is…is that what Blaine did?” Kurt said. He remembered the other boy. He seemed very indifferent when news of the girl’s “death” reached him, indifferent when Santana threw a glass elephant at him, indifferent when he walked through the door to get hit by it then turn around and walk through it again but to be gone for good. 

“Yep,” Santana said sourly. “Don’t ever mention him to me again if you still want me to help you. He left without ever saying why and he kept coming back for two seconds after years of radio silence. It was rude! I know you’re not going to be like him, right?” 

“Right…” 

“Good. Start packing whatever measly baggage you have tonight. We can ask Mercedes to help us get a deal on flight tickets since she has more experience with TAR.” 

Kurt snorted. “What the hell is TAR?”

“Shut up. It’s Traveling After Reaping. Shut up! I’m not the one who makes this shit up, it’s not my fault!” 

Kurt and Santana walked home together, both mentally preparing for when they would be saying goodbye.

 

 

But that was then. This is now.

 

Kurt dressed himself immaculately in a sleek midnight blue tuxedo. He adjusted his tie as he stared at the mirror in the hallway. He didn’t want to enter the room unless he looked completely like a stranger ready to blend in, but a handsomely made up stranger. His last piece was a mask he made himself when he stayed after hours at Vogue since he had no where else to go. Isabelle, his boss, didn’t mind. She knew he had nowhere to go too. 

The mask was charcoal, but glittered like multicolored stars in the light. The pointed edges were silver and a dark royal blue tassel fell in the front on one side, made out of cashmere from a sweater one of the junior designers threw out because she wasn’t happy with it. It was rule of thumb that whatever no one wanted they gave to Kurt. 

Kurt’s new identity in his “afterlife” did not have much to the name either. Santana had helped him break into the records and give him an Associate’s degree, the same thing she did for Mercedes when she arrived in Lima, which was the least she could do without drawing suspicion. It was a Business degree but it was enough to get him a paid internship at Vogue after he made a new portfolio of all the kinds of clothes he could make and design from leftover scraps and thrift shop fabrics since his old portfolio was somewhere collecting dust in a box in the attic of his house and also had his face in every picture. (It had actually been thrown out along with a lot of his other things. Burt couldn’t stand knowing they were somewhere in his house. It was what he had done when his wife had died. He had only kept a few things because Kurt had wanted them. Now it was Kurt who was dead and no one to want his things. Carole had given his clothes to Goodwill. Finn had kept Kurt’s iPod. Kurt wanted that back.) 

When Kurt was reaped, he got a new face. It was rounder than his real face, the nose smaller, and his eyes weren’t unique to him anymore. They were the same color he had seen right before he died. They were an inky blackness that never changed color.

Only reapers could see each other as they really were.

Everyone at Vogue thought he was ashamed of his appearance since he never wanted to model or even look in the mirror. That was fine with him. 

The pay at Vogue wasn’t a lot, but the job was enough to keep him sane and enough to give him a room at an already filled apartment house. He had wondered if he could room with another reaper but Santana had been right: no other reapers could be contacted, even though Santana had broken into the reaper records to look for addresses, phone numbers, anything.

Kurt stilled as he put on glossy chapstick, glaring at his new chin in the mirror. He really hoped Santana wouldn’t get in trouble with whoever was playing god just because she was trying to help him. (Well, she also liked to break the rules. And stuff.) 

“Hey, Mason, you going in?” Chase asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He was wearing a red tuxedo and a maroon mask with two bird beaks sticking out of both sides. It gave him a bizarre look but paired with the pattern on his tux, Kurt thought he looked like a cool parakeet. 

“Yeah, just giving myself some last minute adjustments,” Kurt said, laughing lightly. He stifled his nervous giggling with a tight smile, shooting his laughter down. He hated when he laughed. The one thing he hated the most about his new form was his new voice. He used to dream as a child that his voice would change but now that it had, he resented his existence so much. And he kept hoping one day the lights would come for him. Sometimes he even dreamt he had been the one stepping into the lights outside the car crash, not that girl. That girl had taken what was meant for him, and… 

“Okay,” Chase said sharply, startling Kurt. He looked at his watch. “Don’t take too long. Isabelle will be expecting you take some photos soon.” He patted his shoulder awkwardly then left. He was a good guy, Kurt thought. He just didn’t know how to interact with Kurt and Kurt couldn’t blame him. Not many interacted with Kurt at all since Kurt didn’t like to speak to anyone. He hated the sound of his own voice. 

“Well,” Kurt said, wincing at his voice. “Show time.” With one last glance at himself in the mirror, mask keeping his new face covered from his own prying eyes, he dashed through the door, past the sign with cursive letters spelling out _Welcome to Vogue’s Masquerade Charity Ball_. _No soliciting._

 

 

A huge golden ballroom opened to New York’s elite. Ballgowns, masks, feathers, and alcohol. Lots of alcohol, Kurt thought as he helped Isabelle sit down at a table in the corner away from trigger happy photographers. 

“Come on, easy there,” Kurt said gently. He smoothed out Isabelle’s light blue shimmering dress. “I’m going to get you some water. I don’t want you die from intoxication, okay?” 

“Thank you, kiddo,” Isabelle said with a smile that reminded Kurt too much of Carole’s. “You’re an angel.” 

Kurt’s lips set into a grim line. “If only. I’ll be right back.” Kurt marched off to the bar, the clicking of his semi-high heeled boots announcing his presence. A deep green mask tinged with blue stared at him. It merely covered his eyes. “Hi,” Kurt said, wondering why he had to go into a “career” that made him constantly have to talk. Why couldn’t he just become a crazy cat man and knit his way into eBay and out of homelessness? “Can I get some water? I’m afraid my boss has had a bit too much tonight.” 

“Of course,” the man said in a British accent. He sounded way too happy in between what looked like a grown ass man sobbing on the bar to his left and a woman slapping her purse in the air to his right, shouting at another man in a giraffe mask. The bartender just looked between them then at Kurt and sighed melodramatically. “Just another day, you know?” he smiled and Kurt thought his eyes had a twinkle to them, before he turned around to fetch a glass for Isabelle. 

Kurt stared at the back of his head, just admiring the casual style of his blonde hair. The man put the glass of water in front of Kurt as well as a martini. 

“I only asked for water,” Kurt said. 

“Oh,” the man said, looking at the martini as if he just noticed it was there. “That one is from me, for you. On the house.” He winked at Kurt. 

Kurt could feel the blush coming all the way up to his cheeks from his toes. “Thanks,” Kurt said. He had no idea his new face could attract anyone, then remembered he was wearing a mask. Duh. 

The man held out his hand over the bar for Kurt to shake. “I’m Henry. And you?” 

Kurt shook his hand. “Enchanted. I’m K—Mason.” He grinned a little too widely, hoping Henry wouldn’t notice his slip up but Henry was already moving on. He held Kurt’s hand up to his lips and lightly brushed them over them. Kurt suddenly felt very warm. 

Their moment was broken when the man who was sobbing next to them collapsed on the floor. The woman who had been shouting scurried over to the man and tried to help him up until the man she had been shouting at helped her. 

Kurt pulled his hand out of Henry’s loosened grasp and cleared his throat. “Well, I should get the water back to my boss. And it looks like you have more customers to listen to as they drown their sorrows.” 

“Yes,” Henry agreed, though he did look a bit disappointed. “It’s such a jolly good time here, I’d hate to miss it.” 

“Well you know what they say, blondes do have more fun,” Kurt said.

Henry frowned at him. “I’m not blonde.” 

“Oh?” Kurt said, grabbing the water glass. “Do you dye your hair blond then?” Inwards, he was freaking out: why was he still talking? It was obvious the moment had passed and he needed to get back to his…life. 

Henry continued to gaze at Kurt in confusion until Chase suddenly appeared next to Kurt. “Mason, you were taking a bit too long. I already got Isabelle some water.” He didn’t say it with malice but Kurt still felt like he was being scolded. 

Henry shifted to smiling, the confusion only lingering a tiny bit as he turned his attentions to Chad. “What may I get you, sir? Or were you just here to collect your friend?” 

“Henry, this is Chase Mad—” Kurt started to say until Chase cut him off. 

“Oh, he’s a colleague. No offense, Mason.” He glanced at Kurt who started blushing for different reasons now. Chase’s voice shifted into a more flirty tone as he said, “Actually, I think I would like something.” 

Henry was now leaning over the bar and he grinned, moving his hand onto Chase’s offered arm. He rubbed over it until he got to his hand, then left it there for a few seconds until taking it off. He immediately turned back to the glasses and said over his shoulder, “What would you like?” 

Chase's face flushed and looked to Kurt, who just stared blankly back at him. Kurt was just as confused by the cold brush off as he was. “Oh—I thought—never mind. I’m getting back to Isabelle. Mason?” 

“I’ll be there,” Kurt said. “I’m just going to finish this martini.” It was going to be the best part of this night, he decided. Then he would go to bed and cry. 

Henry was already on the other side of the bar serving someone else when Kurt drank his martini. Kurt sighed to himself. It seemed like both he and Chase were having a bad day/night.

 

A scream pierced the air.

 

Kurt ran over to Isabelle’s table, his arm gripping her shoulder. “Are you alright?” he said with worry. He hadn’t gotten any notes for the ball. She was not supposed to die. 

Isabelle had a hand over her mouth, blood splattered on her dress, and she pointed away with her other hand. “It’s not mine.” She cried into Kurt’s shoulder. He looked away from her and saw Chase’s body. The giraffe masked man from the bar had a gun. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” He was hysterically going around with his gun as people ran away from him every which way he jolted towards. “It was her fault!” He pointed at the woman with the purse who was now sobbing. “She made me do it! It was meant for her!” 

Kurt shook his head and quietly pulled Isabelle away with him. He happened to glance back at the bar and his eyes met Henry’s. There was a flash of guilt, Henry’s mouth opened to say something, then police stormed into the room, the man taken away in handcuffs, and Henry was gone.

 

Chase was covered with a sheet. 

Isabelle’s sister sat with her in the paramedic’s car since it seemed like she was in shock. 

Kurt sat alone outside and watched the paramedics carry Chase out on a gurney. He wasn’t sure why he was upset. Death happened all the time. He took souls. He had died himself. 

But it was someone he knew. He was _right there_ and he had no control over it. Kurt then realized that that meant someone had to had been in charge—someone had to have reaped him. But then Kurt moaned to himself; they could have done the job way before the ball even started. Kurt would never meet another reaper in this city. 

“You know, you didn’t look like a Mason,” a familiar voice said above him. Henry sat beside Kurt and pulled off his mask. He held it delicately, turning it over in his hands. “Is your real name Mason?” he asked. 

It clicked. 

“No,” Kurt said. “And I’m going to guess yours isn’t really Henry.” 

Kurt allowed the blonde man to gently take Kurt's mask off his face. Pseudo-Henry smiled at him and said, “Let’s start over. I’m Adam and I died four years ago. I’ve been here ever since. I tried seeing my family in England once but it didn’t work out. I guess I needed more experience in TAR. You?” 

Kurt looked around to make sure no one was listening, and then leaned forward. “I’m Kurt. I died when I was eighteen. I think the real reason I was able to move here from Lima was not because my boss let me, but because I broke the rules with my family. I’ve been alone here ever since.” Kurt’s heart clenched on that last one. He would never make the same mistake again. But he knew he had to make a different connection. Now was the perfect time, he thought, as Adam looked into Kurt's real blue-green eyes and Kurt brushed Adam’s real blonde hair behind his ear. He swallowed. “Would you like to get coffee sometime?” 

Adam's face lit up. “I would love to.”

~to be continued~ 


	2. That you stole from paper sheep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is totally fine for Kurt, for being as dead as he was, and then he gets a note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the kurtoberfest prompt "cursed object".
> 
> I had this planned out before. I just actually wrote it this time.
> 
> Also someone on tumblr asked me why I didn't have gravelings and the answer is that I just don't know how I'd fit them into the story/tone. idk. (also, I just plain forgot about them lol. It's been a while)

There’s an old story popular among the reapers that was passed around by word of mouth. God gives Toad a jar containing Death to guard because he’s too busy creating animals he likes better. Frog is an overenthusiastic dimwit. Toad is also a dimwit for letting Frog hold the jar like he’s a Captain Jack Sparrow reject holding a jar of dirt, but he’s a nice dimwit for letting him hold it or he just wants to stop being annoyed by Frog. The reason varies in each re-telling. 

Frog ends up being so happy he finally got to hold the jar that he juggles the jar and it falls to the ground and breaks. Death is released into the world. 

 

 

When Kurt was eight years old, he killed a tadpole. 

He didn’t mean to. He had been playing down near the creek by the school with his friends Rachel and Sugar, and Sugar wanted to go swimming. Her dad had grounded her from using their underground pool because apparently stealing nail polish was “bad”. Sugar had said she was just working on her “hustle”, but eight year olds should apparently not do that and needed to “do their homework” and “be good”. Sugar used air quotes a lot. Rachel didn’t go near the river, afraid, but Kurt went to the edge to watch Sugar slog through the water, barely containing his laughter. 

“There’s a fish in here!” Sugar screeched, standing in the three feet deep creek. She had put her hair up in pigtails with pink sparkly snaps to keep them away from the water. She stepped over a rock, bent down, and gasped. “There’s so many! You guys have to come see!” 

Kurt rolled his denim pant legs up mid-thigh, took off his shoes, folded his socks, and entered. The water was freezing, and Sugar was getting farther away. It had looked muddier from where he had been standing, but up close it was clear enough to see the dark shapes of small fish. 

“Kurt, you’re going to get your nice shirt wet if you stay down there! Sugar, you’re going to trip and fall on your face and get EVERYTHING wet!” Rachel cried, standing near a tree, clutching it for dear life as if just being near the creek meant she was going to meet certain death. “Don’t say I didn’t tell you so!” 

Sugar and Kurt ignored her and instead discovered a bunch of fish, tadpoles, and frogs while Kurt complained about how slimy everything was and Sugar surprisingly was amazed by it all. She mostly talked about made up facts about everything to show how smart she was, but at least her know-it-all voice wasn’t as bad as Rachel’s. 

“And this,” Sugar said as she held up two tadpoles in her hands. “This is a tadpole and they grow up to be small lizards that climb trees. That’s why they can live underwater but breathe in the air. Here.” She put the tadpoles in Kurt’s hands. They had two legs. “You can have those ones.” She cupped her hands and scooped up some water; it looked like she had caught three more. She dumped them into a Ziploc bag she pulled out from her pocket because clearly she put Ziploc bags in her pockets when she didn’t want to bring her purse into the dirty woods. 

When Kurt got home, after proudly telling Rachel he did not ruin his nice shirt _ha!_ and then giving her a tadpole when she begged to be included out of the goodness of his heart; he put his tadpole in a bowl, added water and some pebbles he had picked up from earlier, and some wilted grass. He put the bowl on his desk in his room then ran off to the bathroom to take an extensive shower. When he came back, the tadpole was gone. 

When Burt got home, he found his son crying on the kitchen floor, holding a dead tadpole. He didn’t ask what happened, he just sat down with his son and held his hand.

  

It turns out, there are different divisions to reaper establishments. Kurt became part of the division that reaps humans. There were other reapers who reaped pets. Kurt’s tadpole became his pet for two seconds, but it was enough time for a boy to climb through his window while Kurt was in the shower and touch Kurt’s tadpole (who he had named Maria for two seconds). The touch took the tadpole’s soul, and the tadpole crawled into the portal leading him to his lights, the shadow of the soul sprouting two more legs as Maria leaped away from existence.

 

 

Kurt’s first reap was a man. Santana handed him a note that read _J. Goolsby. 345 Pinion Road. ETD 7:34 PM._ She had stared him in the face, making sure he knew how dire his assignment was. 

“You are going to take this man’s soul,” she said, punctuating each word clearly. “You are going to touch him. Any part of him, and you need to do it before 7:34 PM hits. There will be consequences if you don’t. Then you will escort him to the afterlife aka his lights. You can throw him in if you can’t talk him into it, okay?” 

“What if I don’t want to do it?” Kurt asked, his brow arching in defiance. 

Santana cackled. “I’m sure a complete baby like you wouldn’t be able to handle what would happen if you didn’t, trust me.” 

Kurt pouted. “I like the thought of being ageless, but I really hope I grow out of this baby fat.” 

“You can if you want. You don’t have to stay the same age. You can just choose to if you want to. You think I am really 23? I died at 21. I just like how I look at this age. But remember,” Santana said as she tapped the top of Kurt’s head with a pencil. “Only your hair actually grows. Everything else is an illusion. We can always decide to see you for what you really are.” 

“All as in reapers.” 

“Obviously. Humans just see your different appearance, not the one you can partly control.” 

Kurt made an exasperated noise. “I don’t get why we have to have all these _rules_. We’re dead!” 

“It’s just how Death keeps us in line. He messes with us. Case in point,” she said as she gestured to the both of them. “Now, get to it. You don’t want to reap this guy too early or worse.” 

“What’s worse?” Kurt asked. 

“You don’t want to know.”

 

  

Now, Kurt was staring at a note in his hand the morning autumn officially began. It seemed like it would be a nice day. He was in his homey apartment; there was coffee and tea brewing on the stove, and sunlight flew in from the windows and warmed his toes as he stretched his legs. 

A box of notes had appeared in his wardrobe last night for the rest of the month and two weeks of the next month. Since Kurt was solo, the notes had the exact date on each note, not just the time, and they were all green. Not yellow. Apparently this was an important change. 

Death must have been bored. He had to get his kicks somehow though, Kurt thought, as his vision started to blur when he stared at the note, eyes grazing over each carefully handwritten curve to each letter. 

Of course it would be to make Kurt reap, no, _kill_ his former best friend. Because that’s what they really did, and Kurt could no longer pretend they were doing anything else. 

Things had been going so well. He had been living in New York pleasantly for the most part for two months with Adam. The night they met, Kurt and Adam had walked to a coffee shop and stayed there until 1 in the morning. Kurt knew he wouldn’t be going to Vogue that day, not after what had happened. 

“Did you know who Chase was before you reaped him?” Kurt had asked Adam, nibbling on a cookie Adam had bought him. Kurt had bought Adam a lemon crepe, which he had devoured in ten seconds. 

“No,” Adam had said, shaking his head. “But being a bartender makes it really easy to find out your reaps’ names. Though I only figured out who he was when you told me part of his name. I had C. Madison on my note so what you said was enough, which you know. And sometimes you have to flirt in order to touch someone enough to take their soul.” 

“Did you think I was your reap when you kissed my hand?” Kurt asked. He didn’t know how he felt about that, but it would be just his luck that the only reason a man flirted with him was because he wanted to kill him. 

Adam gave him a big smile. “Oh, nah. I just knew I liked you.” He tilted his head as he looked at Kurt, who was trying to hide the fact he was blushing by putting the cookie in front of his face, awareness dawning on him. “You haven’t been doing this for very long have you now?” 

Kurt nodded. “Guilty. I’m nineteen. I died almost a year ago.” 

“Then I must be the first reaper you’ve met outside of your first group.” 

“Correct. And…” Kurt put the half-eaten cookie down and played with the crumbs on his napkin. “You’re also the first gay man I’ve met. Well, the first one I’ve really talked to other than myself. Not that I talk to myself because that’s weird. If you’re even gay! I don’t know; you might identify as something else. I mean…” 

“It’s okay, Kurt. I’m gay,” Adam said gently, stopping Kurt before he worked himself up, then he laughed to himself. “Very gay. And I’m sorry I ran out on you.” Adam put his hand on Kurt’s own fidgeting ones, nudging some crumbs away. “Chase had run out of the room. He didn’t know he had died; as most reaps tend not to figure out so soon, as you also know. He still thought he was escaping from a gunman. You were so focused on your boss you didn’t even notice he had left.” 

Kurt had felt tears welling up. “I feel so awful.” 

“Don’t,” Adam said. “His lights were very nice. Chase told me he’d been having a difficult time adjusting to New York. He has no family, and he had a hard time making friends in the city. He didn’t mind.” 

“That honestly just makes me feel worse,” Kurt said. “I wish I had known him better, or tried to befriend him whenever he tried to make conversation with me. I’ve just been so wrapped up in myself. Which, you know, I’m dead, so I have pretty good reasons but _still_.” 

Adam had been listening to him intently, then as soon as Kurt finished he nodded to himself and stood up. “Come on, we’re getting out of here and we are watching the sauciest, most raunchiest movie we can get our hands on.” 

“What, why?” Kurt said, bewildered but intrigued as he followed Adam out of he coffee shop. 

“You need to get your mind off of this, and I happen to know mindless entertainment is good for a laugh!” 

Adam held onto Kurt’s hand as they walked to a dollar theatre with questionable lighting, but they were reapers. They didn’t fear the darkness. 

(And that was probably the tackiest thing Kurt had ever thought.)

  

They had been dating for a week before they decided to room together. They got their notes in separate places in the apartment since they were still “solo” but they sometimes reaped together for support. Well, mainly, Adam supported Kurt. Adam had been doing it for a longer time and had gotten used to it, so he didn’t actually need Kurt’s help. Adam had been alone for a much longer time than that, as well, though. And Kurt knew that, so he went with Adam when his schedule would allow him to support him without Adam needing to ask. They had been treading carefully on their new relationship, but the eggshells they had been walking on had been increasingly disappearing.

Every time Kurt reaped someone it was always someone he had no idea existed until that moment, always waiting until the very last minute to touch them and take their souls. He hadn’t had any accidents yet (except for one very close call involving a crane and a baby carriage, but the right person ended up dying thanks to Adam guiding him and the guy turned out to be a serial killer anyway, so good riddance).  

But all good things must come to an end. Kurt thought he might have been overdramatic, but it was what it felt like. When you’re dead, you’re not supposed to have a good life. Things had been too good to be true. Something had to plummet him back to the ground.

 

_R. Berry._

_The corner of 5 th and Broadway._

_Sept. 23. ETD 5:06 PM_

 

He had 8 hours until he had to take Rachel Berry’s soul.

  

 

Back in Lima, when he had reaped a total of 6 souls, Quinn decided to grace him with her presence. Kurt had been patching up a blouse in his room that Santana had ripped from an encounter with an angry old man right before she reaped him. The man had reportedly died of alcohol intoxication, and he was an angry drunk. Santana always scowled whenever she realized she had to reap someone at a bar, or multiple people. It usually meant she was going to get hurt. 

Of course, reapers couldn’t be directly killed and when they got hurt they healed very quickly. But they still _hurt_. 

Kurt had been with Santana because she wanted to show him how to reap under stress, and he had been about to move between her and the man when Quinn had grabbed onto his arm to keep him back. Kurt had not even noticed she was there, but Quinn just shook her head silently at him. Santana handled the situation, but not before she got a pocketknife slicing through her shirt and nicking her ribs. 

Kurt stopped his sewing machine and patted the mattress. Quinn quirked an eyebrow at the gesture but said nothing as she sat next to him. 

“Sorry you had to see that,” Quinn said. “But the moment you died in an awful crash, your reaper fate was sealed to have to deal with unpleasant deaths.” 

“It sucks,” Kurt said, angry mirth in his voice. He held the sewn up shirt in front of them so they could examine the stitching. 

“I think it looks good as new,” Quinn said. 

“I wasn’t talking about the shirt.” 

Quinn surprised Kurt by putting her hand on his shoulder. “I know you weren’t.” Her eyes were really pretty this close, Kurt realized. He wondered if that was what his eyes looked like to humans. Then he realized he did not think of himself as a human anymore, which made him slightly shudder. 

“Look,” Quinn said quietly, looking down at the floor. Kurt lowered the shirt into his lap and continued to stare at the seam. “I’m sorry for not being very welcoming to you.” 

“It’s fine,” Kurt replied. “I understand.” 

“You don’t, actually,” Quinn said. “But you will. If your reaping quota is long, of course. Santana and I appreciate you working hard on being a reaper. Not just with your separate work and reaper duties, but by actually listening to us. Okay, by actually listening to Santana because I haven’t been very helpful, and I acknowledge that.” 

Kurt smiled thinly at her. “Thanks for telling me. Would you mind giving this to Santana? She gets mad whenever I try talking to her at night.” 

Quinn laughed. “Yeah, she does. She likes being uninterrupted with her space, until she needs to have company. I’m glad that doesn’t bother you.” 

Kurt shrugged. “Guess I’ve gotten used to it too.” 

Quinn patted his shoulder and said good night. Just before she was about to leave, Kurt said, “Wait, Quinn. I have a question.” 

Quinn turned back and asked, “What?” 

“Santana told me before that there can be bad things that happen if you don’t reap someone… Can you tell me what it was? She seemed a little cagey at the time and I didn’t want to press her for information. And you said you wanted to help me now. So.” 

Quinn smiled mischievously. “Oh, so you’re noticing the holes in my armor now, I see. I guess I can tell you then.” 

Quinn told him how Blaine had run off to be solo without permission and left some of his souls “unreaped”. The people still died, but since their soul was still left in their bodies, they felt the pain and observed everything as they were cut open for autopsies, poked at wakes, and then finally put underground, essentially alive. They screamed and no one heard them as their corpses rotted around and in and over them. 

Kurt wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

When Quinn told him what happened when you did not reap someone and they were able to avoid death for a bit, Kurt’s eyes widened more in horror. 

“That’s why Santana hates Blaine even though she rarely talks about him,” Quinn had said. “He let people’s souls wither and die in their bodies and never showed remorse. Those people never got to see their lights.” 

“They just… withered out of existence completely?” 

“Yes.” 

If Kurt hadn’t believed in god before, he sure as hell had not believed in him then. 

 

Now, Kurt was rethinking his beliefs. 

If the Toad and Frog story was to be believed as real, that meant that God was real. Because Death had to be real or else… what was he doing? 

Santana told him the story was completely real and reapers were the only ones who could see the remains of the jar, like they were at a museum. She then tried to freak him out by telling him the jar held cursed powers of death because Death had been partly absorbed into the jar before escaping. Kurt felt like Santana had read Harry Potter and wouldn’t admit it. 

Kurt had asked Quinn about the story. She didn’t believe in it since it wasn’t in the Bible (and he held his tongue that being a reaper wasn’t in there either), but if she _had_ (Santana had said, “Wink, wink” to Quinn’s frustration) then the best place to find out where the jar was was if you broke into the reaper records or, by chance, found the animal reaper who took the souls of Frog and Toad because that was just logical. 

Mercedes had just told him to not let the others hoodwink him into thinking things he just wanted to believe were true. He didn’t think that made any sense since why would he ever want to believe a story about a frog and a toad essentially creating death was true? 

But now, Kurt thought as he googled the story, he was beginning to think Mercedes had a point.

 

 

When Kurt reaped his first soul, he thought he would be inconsolable afterwards. He was, after all, a goody-two-shoes, horribly sensitive even though he tended to mask his emotions very well (he had to be in order to make it out of cow town Lima, Ohio as an innocent young gay boy alive—well, that wasn’t applicable in hindsight actually), and best friends with two girls who were as virtuous as they come (at least on the outside since they could be pretty sneaky when they liked). 

Except when he had grasped Justin Goolsby’s soul within his fingertips in the vegetable and fruits aisle, he felt nothing except the overwhelming feeling of wrongness. Not something he wanted to cry his eyes out to or call his dad about. Just something he needed to be alone for a while to shake off. He started to feel numb when he saw Rachel Berry walk into the grocery store. He remembered seeing her at his funeral and thinking she would make some grand gesture, like singing a Barbara Streisand medley in his memory, but instead all she did was stare at his body and sob. She had gotten so loud that her fathers wrapped their arms around her, said their condolences to Burt, and escorted her off the premises. She came back from time to time to put flowers on his grave, then walked across the cemetery to put a fresh bouquet on Sugar Motta’s. Finn or her fathers sometimes accompanied her, but she was mostly alone. 

She had been alone when Kurt first met her at a music camp for the summer when they were seven that Burt sent Kurt off to because Elizabeth didn’t want him to see her deteriorate. They had come together because of their mutual loneliness and then stuck together because of their mutual interests in theatre, music, organic food, performing, competition, Disney movies, and hate-watching reality TV. (Sugar especially liked to join them in the hate-watching. They did not appreciate when she hate-watched their musicals though.) They were in the Drama Club together and Rachel modeled for Kurt whenever he needed a guinea pig for his fashion designs and he kept her occupied by dueting with her. 

As Rachel picked up a basket, Kurt noticed she had dark circles underneath her eyes, her hair was limp, and her sweater was boring. He ached to run up to her and hug her, but his feet stayed glued to the floor. He knew she wouldn’t know it was him even if he did go up to her and she’d blow her whistle if a random stranger was suddenly touching her. 

“Watch where you’re going,” Goolsby snapped at Kurt since he had feigned bumping into him. He put a bag of apples into his shopping basket and walked away. Rachel was looking at magazines when there was an awful shout, a tumble, and a crunch. 

“I’m calling 911!” Rachel cried as too many patrons gathered around the scene without doing anything but fretting. Goolsby’s body was underneath a pile of boxes of cereal and dark blood was dripping from his scalp. Goolsby himself was expressionless as he stepped over his body. 

“If only Debra didn’t need those damn Rice Krispies,” he said flatly. 

Kurt walked up to him. His hands shook. “Um, I’m here to take you to the afterlife?” 

“Are you sure?” Goolsby said, sizing him up. “Or is there someone else higher up? I want to speak to your manager.” 

Kurt’s eyes darted away from him to Rachel. She was kneeling on the floor next to Goolsby’s body, checking his pulse. Blood was soaking her leggings. 

Kurt put his arms to his sides and stared Goolsby straight in the eye. “There is no manager. I died, and now you did too. But you’re going to go…wherever you get to go while I stay here, so come with me.” 

Luckily, Kurt didn’t have to do anything after that. The glass doors of one of the freezers in the frozen foods aisle seemed to open on their own as light flowed from it. 

“Huh,” Goolsby said as he walked to it, inspecting the glowing hot pockets. “I always wanted to break my diet.” Kurt walked with him to the freezer, the light intensely bright, and watched him go.

 

 

It was 10:01 AM when Adam woke up to find Kurt using his laptop. Since Adam was a bartender, he had a night shift that meant he usually slept up to 3 PM if he had no reaps before then. But something made him wake up before his alarm that day, something in his gut. (And it wasn’t exactly hunger, though the thought of tea and scones was enticing, British stereotypes be damned.) 

“Good morning, love,” Adam said, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. Kurt was sitting on the floor with the laptop in his lap and he was munching on a piece of toast. 

“Good morning,” Kurt said, smiling up at Adam, but he could tell he was distracted. 

“What are you up to?” He came up from behind Kurt and leaned down to see what was on the screen. “Oh,” he said as he saw his search results. “You’re not going to find anything you want on that there.” 

Kurt closed the laptop and rose to greet him properly, kissing him. “Why?” he said afterwards. “Also, you need to brush your teeth.” 

“Hey now, I kiss you when you have morning breath and I don’t complain,” Adam said, pouting cutely. 

“That’s because my morning breath is top notch,” Kurt said and winked, his hands resting on Adam’s arms. 

“True,” Adam said, enjoying the moment. But he couldn’t let that earlier feeling of something being wrong with Kurt linger. “The story you’re looking for also happens to be true.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, but Toad lets Frog hold the jar because his arms get too tired, not out of kindness.” 

“I heard he did it out of irritation.” 

“No, it’s because he turns out to be as lazy as God was when he handed the jar to Toad,” Adam said, pulling Kurt along so they could sit on the couch. “He created man and animal to be in his own image.” 

“I am so glad I don’t believe in the Bible,” Kurt said with a laugh but his heart wasn’t in it. Adam could tell because there wasn’t a mocking undertone to it. 

“What’s troubling you, Kurt?” Adam asked. “I can tell something is. You’re a morning person, but you’re still in your pajamas.” 

“I asked Isabelle if I could have the day off today and she was so happy I asked for anything that she told me I could have the rest of the week off,” Kurt said. “She babies me a little too much, but I appreciate the thought.” 

“I don’t have any reaps today,” Adam said, nuzzling Kurt’s neck. “That means we could have the entire day to ourselves if you don’t either…” 

Kurt quieted then. 

Adam stopped and looked at him. Kurt’s eyes were rimmed red and his hair was wild, like he spent an hour running his hands through them. “Something is definitely wrong. Please tell me what it is?” 

“It’s so stupid,” Kurt mumbled. “I shouldn’t be acting this way. I don’t understand how anyone up there thought I’d be the best person to have this job.” 

Adam just waited until Kurt continued, rubbing his thumb over Kurt’s palm in silent support. 

“I do have a reap. I had one this morning, which I finished, but I have another at 5. It’s… She was my best friend. I already went through denial, but I know it has to be her.” Kurt looked over at Adam with watery eyes. “There aren’t that many R. Berrys in the world, or in this city, I should think. That’s what made her unique.” 

They had often spoken about what they would do when they got to New York when they were 12. Rachel decided they would make a pact for them to both be on Broadway by age 25. Kurt thought she didn’t know exactly how pacts worked, but that was because he linked the word ‘pact’ with the word ‘suicide’. At 15, their aspirations became starring in specific musicals and shows. At 17, they just wanted to get there and room together. They had been spooked by NYADA hopefuls, making them realize they weren’t unique and people like them were a dime a dozen. But they were still determined they could make it. At 18, Kurt died. At 19, Rachel would follow. 

At least they both made it to New York.

  

 

“You can’t be serious, Kurt,” Adam said. His arms were crossed in front of him as he trailed after Kurt, who was stomping down the stairs outside the apartment. Kurt’s combat boots were really effective for that. “This is a fool’s errand. Nothing good will come of it.” 

“You said yourself that the story was true!” Kurt said, whirling around to face Adam as he reached the sidewalk, speaking a little too harshly. “It’s the least I can do... I can at least try to save Rachel.” 

“Looking for an ancient artifact isn’t going to change anything,” Adam said, trying to keep his voice level. “It’s just going to give you false hope, but end up making you feel more burnt out and useless than you did before. I don’t even know where you got this idea that a piece of the jar can help you stop death.” 

“My old boss told me the jar was infused with Death itself which could give it powers. It could do something.” 

“What if whatever it could do, hypothetically speaking that you actually find it somehow, backfires and makes things worse? Do have a back up plan?” 

“Of course I do. I’ll just not reap her.” 

“Kurt,” Adam said, his face an unsettling grim. “You know what happens if you don’t reap.” 

“I can’t kill my best friend,” Kurt said. 

“You’re not killing her, you are reaping her.” 

“Stop talking to me like I’m a five year old!” 

“Stop acting like one and I will.” 

“You always treat me like I know nothing but guess what Adam, I’m just as dead as you,” Kurt said. They were getting closer as the conversation grew more heated. 

“I’ve been dead longer than you!” 

“That doesn’t mean I need to be constantly babied. I can do things on my own!” 

“Then you can go find this lost ancient animal reaper on your own.” 

“Fine!” Kurt screamed. 

“Why do you have to be like this?” Adam said, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to pull his beanie down over his own head and disappear. 

“Because I have to try!” Kurt shouted, his voice breaking on the last word. “I have to…” 

Adam realized he was breathing really hard and Kurt was trying not to cry. “Hey,” Adam said. 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said, but it was hard to distinguish the words because he was currently burying his head into Adam’s neck, hugging him around the waist. 

Adam cradled Kurt’s head and rested his chin on him. “Shh, love. Just breathe for a bit.” Which also meant he didn’t want his sweater to suffocate him, so he made Kurt loosen his death grip around him until they stood facing each other. Adam kept one hand on Kurt’s arm to anchor him.

“I didn’t really mean what I said,” Kurt said quietly. 

“Did you though?” Adam said, his eyes full of hurt. “I don’t mean to treat you like you’re glass, Kurt. I just can’t help feeling protective of you. I guess I forget myself sometimes.” 

“Dying changes things,” Kurt said. “But so does being in a relationship. I shouldn’t have let this escalate like that and I’m sorry.” Kurt sat down on the curb. Adam followed and slipped his hand into Kurt’s. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“But you’re trying,” Adam said. “It took me a long time to become this confident in my abilities. And I don’t just mean the reaping. I am willing to stick with you until you get the hang of things, and beyond, if you’ll have me. I’ve met other reapers and men in the past, but no one has ever genuinely crawled into my heart and stayed there like you have.” 

Kurt kissed Adam on the cheek and squeezed his hand. “I like you a lot, Adam. I can’t believe you’ve even stuck with me this long.” Adam was about to say something to counter that but Kurt shook his head at him, smiled, and continued, “I think I’ve just been in denial this entire time. Nothing has felt real to me. I thought I could sneak around and be with my family and when that didn’t work, I came here like having some semblance of my old dream would make me happy and feel whole. And then being with you...it felt like way more than I deserved.” Adam squeezed his hand back. “It’s been nothing like I’ve imagined. I’m realizing now that… I can’t have what I’ve always thought I wanted. I can’t cling to my old life anymore.” 

“I understand,” Adam said. “And if it will make you feel better, we can try to find a piece of the jar of death. I did meet an animal reaper here once. He could know another, and they could know another, and then that one could know enough about the animal reaper who reaped Frog…” 

“No,” Kurt said, shaking his head again, but mainly at how convoluted that plan was. He couldn’t believe how blind he was to the fact nothing could stop death from happening. “I don’t want Rachel to die. I _really_ don’t want her to die. I especially don’t want to have to inevitably _watch_ her die. But…” He began to get up on his feet. They helped each other stand up, and started walking. “If anyone is to lead Rachel to her lights, I would like to be the person to do that. I’d like to actually say goodbye.”

  

 

It was 8:46 AM on a Saturday morning when Elizabeth Hummel died. 

“Clarice, is that you?” Elizabeth said. She was lying in her hospital bed. Her son was sleeping, his small face pressed into her stomach, a book splayed open on her lap. Her husband was sitting in a chair, snoring quietly. 

“It’s me,” the nurse said. 

“How come I didn’t recognize you before?” Elizabeth said. She realized she wasn’t on the hospital bed anymore. She stretched out her legs. No pain. “Is this a dream?” She immediately realized it wasn’t a dream since no one was laughing or smiling, and her son wasn’t hugging her. Instead, it felt like time stopped. Everything in the room was still, including the line on her heart monitor. 

“You didn’t recognize me,” Clarice said, tears falling down her face, “because you weren’t dead before. But, sweetie, now you are.” 

“It’s been so long,” Elizabeth said, putting her hand on Clarice’s cheek. “Oh, my dear sister.” 

Clarice made to tug Elizabeth out of the room, but she slid out of her grasp. “I have to say goodbye.” She gazed at Burt, her handsome husband, ready to protect even when there was nothing he could do. Then she held a hand over her mouth to contain her sob as she walked up to her son, so strong in the face of death. He had woken up.

  

 

4:58 PM. 

Kurt held Adam’s hand all the way to the magic shop on the street, and then waved him away, telling him he would see him later that night. They had plans to watch a sappy romance movie, but one with a happy ending. Kurt made sure Adam knew this requirement before sending him on his journey to pick the perfect one. 

He saw her sitting on a bench. Her hair was in a loose braid and she was wearing a magenta peacoat. He could see her beautiful face with her beautiful nose, then she turned and he saw the rest of her. She looked contemplative, but happy. 

He wished she didn’t have to die. 

“Hi,” he said to her when he reached her. “I _love_ your coat.” 

Rachel smiled at him. “Me too!” 

Kurt’s lip trembled but he held fast. “Your hair is coming apart though.” 

Rachel scoffed and stood up. “How rude! I was in a hurry and I had to run and running makes my hair fly around, you can’t judge me!” She stumbled in her high heels. 

“Oh, here, let me help you,” he said as he steadied her with his hand. 

Removing one’s soul doesn’t take any effort at all. 

It was just one touch, and just like that, the crosswalk signal was on and Rachel Berry excused herself from their almost-argument. She was thinking about what she was going to have for dinner when a taxi driver was busy talking on the phone and sped right into her. 

Kurt closed his eyes, the noise draining out around him. He didn’t hear the screams, the horns, the life shattered. 

When he opened them, Rachel was staring at him. 

“Kurt? Kurt?” Rachel said, then she got louder and ran up to him. “Kurt!” She hugged him, basically tackling him with an _oomph!_ , and he hugged her back. They ended up spinning around, holding onto each other like that. They spun through the scene, dodging debris and police and a wayward shoe, laughing. 

“I can’t believe it’s you!” Rachel said. “I have so much to tell you! I got into NYADA!” She smiled so hard Kurt was almost blinded by the whites of her teeth.  “Mr. Schue went to jail for drugs and your dad is a congressman and oh my gosh, Finn! He’s so talented! Oh, and Dave Karofsky came out! He’s DATING Azimio, can you believe it?!” 

“Oh my god, slow down, Rachel,” Kurt said. 

“Also…” The crazy grin left Rachel’s face. “You’re dead.” 

She let go of him. Her hair was no longer in a braid and her coat had blood in several spots. A fire hydrant had also been struck and water spouted into the air. 

“I’m not getting wet,” she said as she held her hand in the air. It went through the spray. 

“Neither am I,” Kurt said. 

“Kurt,” Rachel said, and it was the first time Kurt ever heard her voice crack. “I had so many things I wanted to do.” 

“Me too,” Kurt said with a sad smile. “I’m so sorry, Rach.” He held out his hand. 

She looked at it for a moment. At the funeral, Kurt’s body had worn gloves because irreparable damage was done to his hands in the car crash. His hand looked perfect now. She took it. 

“Where to next?” she asked him. 

“Right this way, madam,” he said with a flourish of his other arm. “We always said we’d be on Broadway together. Let’s go.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Titles from "Sleepwalking" by A Fine Frenzy.


End file.
